There are thirty-four muscles in the human hand. I have thirty-one. I am 1 in 100,000, but I am more than a statistic. I am disabled- a term I rarely use aloud to others, but my right dominant hand is classified as hypoplastic, possessing three less muscles than any human hand. Despite my disability- few people know- I look fine until upon closer scrutiny, one sees my right hand has thinner bones, poor circulation, and a lack of muscle mass. This story of discovering my disability, is ongoing, as the research behind my diagnosis is still emerging into the science world.

Upon discovering my difficulties at a young age, I did not distinguish the difference between my peers who could snap effortlessly or hold a pencil with ease. Feeling pain, I gritted my teeth through it to keep up with my peers, not wanting to fall behind. When I was younger, the pain was manageable, until my fine motor skills became an important part of my high school career. …show more content…
It was in another state, a five hour drive away, at Johns Hopkins Hospital that I found my solution. Meeting with the doctor, who specializes in hand surgery, the doctor told me of a solution- a double procedure surgery in hopes to aid my fine motor skills, but not to cure them. Trusting science, I decided I would take the risk. My family did not fully support my decision, but it was a decision only I could make for myself. Now as I type this, my hand is the same as it has been for the last seventeen years as my surgery date approaches. My story is not over, but my disability has changed who I am. I have made decisions for myself, faced physical barriers, and seen the horrors of far-worse disabilities in children younger than me. If I learned anything it would be, disability does not define you, but allows you to see the world differently. My story is ongoing as the medical world is rapidly changing every day through research. My story is to be